Tag: ottawa

Residents Voice Concerns at Fisher Heights Community Meeting

October 12, 2025

The Annual General Meeting of the Fisher Heights and Area Community Association turned into a session filled with complaints. Though the term “bitch session” might seem harsh, it accurately described the atmosphere.

The President began the meeting by summarizing the association’s events from the past year and spent about ten minutes reviewing the financial statements. After that, he opened the floor for discussion, with the local City Councilor present at the head table.

The first concern raised by a resident, amid the mostly grey-haired and entirely white attendees, was the rat population thriving in his home. Many others joined in, revealing that the area is facing a significant rat problem. I recalled that this same issue was discussed last year, with residents blaming the increase in rats on the construction of the Light Rail Transit (LRT) system downtown. The excavation for the underground rail disturbed the rats, causing them to migrate into the suburbs—specifically, into our neighborhood. No solutions were proposed last year, and using poison was deemed not an option since children lived in the rat-infested area.

 Our councilor addressed the discussion by explaining that the city is taking the rat issue seriously and has started mapping the geographic areas where rats thrive. Residents are encouraged to report any rat sightings in their homes to the city. The councilor also mentioned that a rat committee has been established, and a dedicated section about this issue has been created on the city’s website.

Additionally, the councilor advised us that rats tend to flourish in “messy woodpiles,” “overgrown grass,” and “compost bins.” He urged residents to clean up their woodpiles, maintain their lawns, and consider limiting or discontinuing composting altogether. While this advice is practical, it may not be well-received by those who enjoy composting. Although the information provided was helpful, it remains unclear how these measures will effectively improve the situation in our community.

The discussion then shifted to parking problems in the community. Residents voiced strong objections to having parked cars in front of their homes, even when those vehicles were on public streets. Their concerns appeared to arise from a desire to prevent strangers from parking near their houses. This situation raised questions about whether their objections were related to safety, the aesthetic appeal of the neighborhood, or simply a feeling of ownership over the street in front of their homes.

In response, our councilor suggested that larger households in our area were contributing to this issue. This statement was surprising, as our community has been aging, resulting in fewer children. So, where are all these new residents coming from? One possibility is that the rental complex in our area has begun charging for visitor parking, which forces guests to park on public streets. Others pointed out that many young adults are staying at home with their parents because they cannot afford to buy their own homes. The councilor also noted that redevelopment in the area has led to higher housing densities, resulting in more households in the community and, consequently, more cars on the streets.

Many audience members asked why the city cannot install more no-parking signs. The councilor explained that no-parking signs are placed only in areas where intersections create dangerous driving conditions. In these instances, people often find alternative parking spots elsewhere in the neighborhood, which means the identified parking issue is simply shifted to another location. This approach hardly resolves the problem!

Additionally, parking is becoming a bigger issue due to the new zoning bylaw, which reflects the city’s growing population. The city council views densification as the only solution, aside from an unlikely massive investment in public transit. Ultimately, higher population densities will lead to more cars on the streets.

Another topic discussed was the overflowing garbage bins in city parks. Since we have curbside garbage pickup, someone asked why the garbage truck doesn’t also empty the garbage containers in the parks when it passes by. The councilor explained that this is more complicated because the public works and parks departments use different contractors for garbage collection. Could better coordination between the two departments improve efficiency and reduce costs? I wondered if the councilor would consider taking this suggestion back to the city for further discussion.

Continuing on the topic of our parks, someone raised a concern about the absence of no-smoking signs in these areas. This individual observed people smoking cannabis in public spaces—likely due to the smell—where young school children walk. I thought we had already implemented a bylaw regarding this. The councilor responded by discussing the challenges of enforcing a no-smoking bylaw in city parks. He mentioned a shortage of bylaw enforcement officers and indicated that enforcing such a bylaw was not a top priority. Additionally, the potential revenue from this bylaw would be minimal compared to the significantly more profitable option of ticketing for illegal parking.

Another individual complained about loud construction noises at night. A construction company working on a high-rise building accidentally damaged a water pipe, necessitating emergency repairs overnight. The infrastructure maps provided by the city to the company failed to mark the location of this major water pipe, which supplied water to a nearby dialysis clinic. Restoring the water supply became urgent.

The person who raised the noise complaint stated that she was not concerned about the work at the dialysis clinic; rather, she objected to the nighttime noise, which deprived her of sleep. This comment troubled me, not only because of her lack of understanding of the situations that can arise on construction sites, but also due to her apparent lack of compassion for the patients at the dialysis clinic. To compound her complaint, she asked if the contractor was fined for breaking the water pipe. My goodness! It was an accident! Moreover, it was the city that provided an outdated map. Should the city fine itself for that?Continuing on the topic of our parks, someone asked why there are no no-smoking signs in these areas. This individual observed people smoking cannabis in public spaces (I assume he noticed it by the smell) where young school children walk. I thought we already had such a bylaw. The councilor addressed the topic by discussing the challenges of enforcing a no-smoking bylaw in city parks. He mentioned the shortage of bylaw enforcement officers. He indicated that enforcing such a bylaw would not be a top priority. Additionally, the potential revenue generated from implementing this bylaw would be minimal compared to the significantly more profitable option of ticketing people for parking illegally.

Still another person complained about loud construction noises at night. A construction company working on a high-rise building accidentally damaged a water pipe, necessitating emergency repairs overnight. The infrastructure maps provided by the city to the company failed to mark the location of a major water pipe. Since this pipe supplied water to a nearby dialysis clinic, restoring the water supply became an urgent matter.

The person who raised the noise issue stated that she was not concerned about the work at the dialysis clinic; instead, she objected to the nighttime noise, which deprived her of sleep. This comment troubled me not only because of the lack of understanding for a situation that is likely to occur on construction sites, but also due to her apparent lack of compassion for the patients at the dialysis clinic. To compound her complaint, she asked if the contractor was fined for breaking the water pipe. My goodness! It was an accident! Moreover, it was the city that provided an outdated map. Should the city fine itself for that?

At that point, I had reached my limit with the complaints and decided to leave the meeting. I found myself questioning the positive actions the association had taken over the past year. I heard that they had painted some lines on a basketball court, replaced the flooring in the community center, and allocated funds for a bicycle repair station in one of the parks. They also organized several community events, including this meeting, where residents could voice their concerns and speak with our councilor. While these are positive steps, I wondered if they were sufficient to justify the existence of a community association.

As I drove home, I realized that the meeting did not address the various clubs the association sponsors, such as a bridge club and fitness classes in the community center. Including presentations from these clubs could have been beneficial, as it might have encouraged more people to participate in the association’s activities. I also questioned the absence of a proposed budget outlining the association’s priorities for the upcoming year. I left the meeting feeling that it was a missed opportunity to make the association more relevant to the community. Overall, I don’t think our community has any significant issues at this time.

Immigrant Experiences: Inspiring Stories Amidst Challenges in Canada

Septermber 21, 2025

Many Canadians believe that the significant influx of immigrants in recent years has contributed to a shortage of housing units and overwhelmed healthcare services in the country. Since 2021, four million people have arrived in Canada, mostly temporary workers, students, but also refugees, economic migrants, and family members of Canadians.

I understand why many Canadians’ views on immigration have turned negative. However, I enjoy interacting with recent immigrants and discussing their reasons, as well as their plans, for coming to Canada. Let me provide some examples.

When I dropped my car off at the garage, a Lyft driver came to take me home. In a cheerful voice, he asked about my day and engaged me in a friendly conversation, inquiring about what I did. Listening to his accent, I asked him where he was from. He told me he came from Somalia eight years ago and now has a family with young children. His ambition is to establish a business here. He is the kind of person we need in Canada; in fact, all countries would benefit from having young and ambitious individuals like him.

When my car was ready, the garage sent another Lyft driver to pick up my car. Not surprisingly, he was also an immigrant, this time from Rwanda. He came to Canada a year ago and proudly drove a brand-new vehicle, which he mentioned he had bought for cash. He was able to do that by working seven days a week, an astounding achievement in my opinion.

I learned from the driver, Olivier, that he preferred Lyft over Uber, where he had previously worked. Although he had a French name, he did not speak French. He explained that Rwanda was a Belgian colony before gaining independence, which is why many people in the country have French names. After completing his university studies, he went to Belgium to pursue a master’s degree. He ended up staying in Europe for five years, living in England and later obtaining a second master’s degree in Poland. I was surprised to hear this and asked him if he spoke Polish. He clarified that the university program he attended was conducted in English.

From our conversation, Olivier appeared to be a loner, with only a high school friend in Ottawa. He confided in me that he is 33 years old, hopes to start a family, but working seven days a week leaves him little time for socializing and meeting potential partners. In addition to his driving job, he also works part-time at night for a Belgian company, another ambitious immigrant who would be welcomed in most countries.

I should also mention the young man from India who came to fertilize my lawn. He was busy working his Weedman route in the neighborhood but took a few minutes to chat with me when I asked how he liked his job. Although fertilizing keeps him occupied during the summer, he mentioned that he needs employment during the winter months. He plans to enter sales with the company, but he finds the challenge of sales to be significant, as he needs to make at least ten sales or identify leads each day. That’s not an easy task these days, especially when people tend to prefer a do-it-yourself approach.

Engaging in conversations with recent immigrants is both inspiring and motivating, and it has led me to reflect on the richness of the immigrant experience —a perspective I hold dear, having been an immigrant myself.

The sense of satisfaction that comes from adapting successfully to a new country is immense. During the phase of acculturation, individuals face challenges that feel overwhelming. I arrived in Canada with no language skills, no material possessions, and a total lack of knowledge of Canadian culture. To adapt to my new country, I grabbed any available jobs to improve my language skills, earn some money, and learn local customs.

In my first job, I carried furs at an auction for furriers, where they bid on various furs. A memorable moment arrived when the furriers tipped me, and I responded by telling them I only did my job and didn’t accept tips. This response earned me some strange looks. It didn’t take long for me to realize that tipping for good service is standard practice in North America, while it was nonexistent in communist countries like Hungary.

Other jobs followed. I washed dishes at a hospital and later traveled with a survey crew, doing machete work and drafting. On my last day with the survey crew, I overheard my team’s plan to pull down my pants and stick me in an anthill. Fortunately, I managed to escape before they could grab me; my language skills had improved to the extent that I could understand whispering.

To further improve my language skills, I accepted a job with a California company selling Collier’s encyclopedia. It involved knocking on doors and presenting the value of having the encyclopedia in the small towns around Vancouver, BC. I did not last long. I appreciated meeting those who welcomed me, but many older attendees, perhaps lonely, saw my presentation as an opportunity to socialize without planning to make a purchase.  

My early job experiences have significantly contributed to the development of my language skills and self-confidence over time, leading me to pursue a university education.

In summary, the sudden increase in immigration overwhelmed healthcare services and contributed to a housing shortage. And it made immigrants less welcome. But talking with recent immigrants is usually uplifting and inspiring. Before forming an opinion on the pros and cons of immigration, I strongly encourage you to engage in conversations with them.

Notes on Canadian Healthcare

August 23, 2025

While sitting on the porch facing the lake with my laptop open on the table, healthcare unexpectedly came to mind. It was a perfect summer morning, and with a coffee in hand, I thought about how true it is for a healthy life to live with and enjoy nature.

 Canadian healthcare has a good reputation, particularly outside the country. Although it is a universal system, accessibility remains an issue, especially for those without a family doctor. Twenty percent of Ontario families have no family doctor. These individuals end up seeking medical assistance in emergency departments, where there is a shortage of emergency physicians and nursing staff. Because of that, many emergency departments have been forced to close for a day or even a week.

A tragic example highlights this issue: a sixteen-year-old boy arrived at an emergency unit and was triaged as a “second” priority patient. This designation means that a doctor should ideally see him within fifteen minutes. The boy received attention only several hours later. He ultimately passed away due to the delay.

Not in the same horrid category as the above example, I had experience with our healthcare system recently that raised some questions in my mind. I twisted my leg, which made walking quite painful. After a few days with no improvements, I visited my family doctor, who provided requisitions for an X-ray and an ultrasound to determine what was wrong with my knee. However, I expressed my concerns about the long wait times for an ultrasound— the imaging center near us has openings in six months. She heard from other patients about the long wait times and suggested an imaging place on the east end of Ottawa, where one of her patients had the treatment in a month. I wondered if I really had to wait that long to find out what was wrong with my leg before any treatment could begin.

In the meantime, the doctor gave me Voltaren to help alleviate the pain, but it didn’t work for me. As a result, I scheduled an appointment with a physiotherapist, who used needling and massage techniques on the painful area and prescribed some exercises. I noticed significant improvement within just a few days.

I went to the doctor with the expectation that she would diagnose the issue and recommend a treatment plan. Instead, she provided me with requisitions for further investigations. Since the pain has been subsiding with exercise the physiotherapist suggested, I have not followed up with the requisitions. The doctor did not mention physiotherapy as a treatment.

While speaking with my family doctor, I requested a prescription for an EpiPen. I had one previously, but it had expired. She informed me that my records did not indicate a need for an EpiPen, so she was unable to prescribe one. I do not know what policies exist for prescribing EpiPen. I reminded her that I had used an EpiPen for ten years. However, she reviewed my records with this medical group that goes back six years, and there was no documentation of my previous EpiPen use. (We joined this medical group when our previous family doctor retired, and the practitioner we initially started with did not request my medical records although I offered to get it). I also mentioned to her that I had a wasp sting incident after stepping on a wasp nest. Following that, an allergist gave me shots for a few years to build my resistance to wasp stings and prescribed an EpiPan for ten years.

Following my explanation, the doctor gave me a prescription for an EpiPen. Still, this experience made me realize that a lifetime healthcare data system would be highly beneficial. Everyone should have their complete health history in one place.

I have access to my health history that is on multiple data systems. Two of the three hospitals that I visited in Ottawa use a system called “MyChart” that includes all my testing and hospitalization data. The third hospital in Ottawa uses another system called “ConnectedCare” and has my history with this hospital. Then I use a lab for blood work and other tests, and I subscribe to their data system to access their results. And, of course, my family doctor receives data from all of these systems. What is missing is the history from my retired family doctor, when most of the data was handwritten.

But beyond medical results, we use other health-related experts. We visit dentists, optometrists, physiotherapists, personal trainers, and other health care professionals. Wouldn’t it be beneficial to have all of this information together in one system?

My Emergency Room Journey: Insights and Reflections

July 6, 2025

I discovered I lost seven pounds. It was not a diet; I spent four days at the hospital, a day in the emergency observation unit, and then three days on a ward. What took me there was high fever alternating with chills in between and a general crappy feeling.

Kathy dropped me off at the Emergency entrance of the Civic Hospital, where I showed my health card and was told to sit down and join the fifty other patients in the waiting room. I observed with interest the people, some of whom did not seem to be sick at all, while others were in wheelchairs. There were people of all ages, and all ethnicities dressed informally.

The elderly gentleman, with a white beard and a black t-shirt featuring a giant fox on the front, impressed me because he wore a t-shirt befitting a teenager while having the demeanor of an academic. His partner gently guided him along while he also brandished a cane.

And then a huge African Canadian man squeezed himself into the narrow chair next to me, in a cloud of perfume, wearing multiple chains around his neck with his long hair neatly braided. Excuse me, I thought there were signs advising against using any perfume. Then he got up when the loudspeaker system called for Josephine.

Then the triage nurse took my vital health signs and gave me a bottle for a urine sample, assuming I could void at that time. I rejoined the waiting room after completing what I was instructed to do. An hour later, I was called to the registration station, where an agent placed a paper bracelet on my wrist with my DOB, name, and ID number.  

Then it was back to the waiting room again, where a sudden commotion broke out with three large policemen pushing a hollering woman into the room. Many people averted their eyes while I wanted to see why she was yelling, “I cannot take this anymore.” The policemen waited for the staff to take the hollering individual off their hands.

Complicating this atmosphere of general buzz, a young girl was throwing up, and people were getting up to register at different windows. Ambulance drivers were also pushing gurneys through the waiting room. You would think that waiting for treatment would be boring; I found the entire scene fascinating to observe. It appeared to be controlled chaos. 

I thought of getting a cup of coffee and some food to carry me through after a few hours of waiting, only to discover that the vending machines were not working. Kathy went outside and entered the main hospital door, where there were fast food places, and picked up some food for me. I wondered how people without a companion would obtain food without missing their turn when called. Finally, they called my name and instructed me to follow the yellow dots on the floor, which led to the “urgent care” door. Nine colored dots were running in parallel and then peeling off in different directions.

In one of the examining rooms in the urgent care unit, they took my blood from both arms and put me through tests. An hour later, a medical student interviewed me and said he would advise the emergency doctor, who would then advise me on the next steps. In the meantime, I socialized with my neighbor, a young woman with sepsis, who showed me a portion of her arm from where four skinny hoses hung out of a port. I did not think I wanted to further our medical conversation about her history of sepsis.

 I had been here for over five hours when the Emergency Department doctor showed up and explained that I seemed to be alright overall but had an infection and ordered a CT scan of my pelvic region. My mind did not connect the CT scan with my complaint that brought me in here; it was beyond my comprehension. I just waited to have the scan completed and then waited again until the nurse showed up with a couple of pages of text and a prescription for two medicines. One was an antibiotic, while the other had something to do with acid reflux and GERD; the latter was a complete mystery to me. But I was drained and happy to get out after seven hours in the ED without asking any further questions.

The antibiotic prescription did not work; after four days, I still had a fever and chills. I found antibiotics to work in a day or so in the past, so it was time to go back to the hospital, this time to another one, the Queensway Carleton. After seeing the triage nurse, I was pleasantly surprised when a young attendant quietly asked me if I was Andy. When I said that it was me, she asked me to follow her into the ED observation rooms, where they put me in a cubicle. I asked the attendant how she knew who I was and found out that I looked my age and was the only one of my age in the waiting room, one benefit of growing old.

They performed all the blood work and testing again, and then it was a matter of waiting again. However, I knew I could ask for some food that they provided for lunch, a nice feature. In this ED, a doctor came around to discuss my symptoms, and later the internal medicine doctor came and provided a diagnosis that was satisfying, knowing that he was pretty convinced I had a tickborne infection called anaplasmosis. The reason the previous antibiotic did not work, in his opinion, was that it did not address this infection; it targeted Lyme disease. By the way, I have recently read several articles about the proliferation of ticks in the Northeast, attributed to the warming climate.

So, the treatment started with an IV drip and doxycycline pills, a double attack to begin the healing, while waiting for the blood analysis proving that it was anaplasmosis. Start the treatment and save time while waiting for confirmation.

Now, if you have ever been in an ED space overnight, you know that it is not the place for a quiet sleep. The traffic was constant all night, in addition to the nurses taking your vital signs every couple of hours. So, little snippets of sleep, each two hours in duration, was my night. The next day, they found a room for me upstairs, advising me that my infection had to improve before they would let me go home.

I was miffed to find out that I was in a geriatric ward until my daughter informed me that I was one of them chronologically, if not by physical condition.

Sleeping in the ward was a bit better than sleeping in the ED space, although bells were ringing all night, patients were requesting attention, and the nurses still checked my vitals every three hours, day and night.

Furthermore, I found out I was in a ward with Alzheimer’s patients, and my next-door neighbor was either yelling, listening to a radio, or crying. I heard the nurse coming, informing her colleagues that she brought some “great” music for the gentleman next door: Nat King Cole and Dolly Parton. Fortunately, I enjoy a wide range of music. By the way, I couldn’t leave the ward without someone taking me, due to the type of ward I was in.

And then the nurse came in with the news that I would have to wear a pulsating sleeve on my leg, powered by an air pump, to prevent a blood clot from forming due to lying in bed all day (the name of the gadget was a sequential compression comfort sleeve). Wait a minute, I said, what do I do when I have to void at night? No problem, the nurse said, “You just take off the sleeve. I didn’t like the idea at all, since I get up a few times a night. Without saying another word, the nurse left and consulted with someone. When she returned, she explained that instead of the sleeve, I would get a shot in my belly to thin my blood. I had no choice at this time.

With the daily blood work showing improvement, they decided to let me go home in three days with a doxycycline prescription for another four days. And a follow-up visit with the infectious disease doctor.

Overall, I would have preferred not to have the experience. But going from feeling awful to good was worth it. The amount of attention I received from the nurses and doctors was genuinely excellent at the Queensway Carleton Hospital. Also impressive is the amount of paperwork I found on my account, which documents all the tests and the extensive reporting by doctors on X-rays, CT scans, ECGs, and the opinions of specialists in emergency medicine, internal medicine, and infectious diseases. And don’t forget, I’m still down seven pounds!

My Journey Through Various Cars: A Personal Reflection

June 21, 2025

A blogger’s description of his experiences with cars over the years sparked memories of myown time with the vehicles I’ve driven.

Like many others, I wanted to have a car when I was a student in Vancouver, British Columbia. With limited funds, I searched for something within my budget. I had my heart set on the curvy Mustang, which I found appealing in design. However, when I started looking, the used models began at $2,000, far beyond what I could afford.

On another used car lot, I came across a Peugeot 403 priced at $800. This was more manageable for me, and the car was in good condition with no rust. For me, the Peugeot had some interesting features, including a hand crank to assist with starting the engine in colder weather. You had to be careful with the crank; if you didn’t let go as soon as the car started, it could potentially injure you by taking your arm out of its shoulder socket.

The Peugeot 403 received excellent service from European mechanics in Vancouver, and parts were easily accessible. When properly tuned, the car purred like a sewing machine. The situation changed, though, when I drove my Peugeot to Chapel Hill, North Carolina, where I entered graduate school. My route took me south to California, where I joined Route 66 and journeyed east across the Mojave Desert to North Carolina. The car performed well in temperatures above 120 degrees.

During my stay in North Carolina, snow arrived only once, and I was able to use the crank successfully. However, problems arose when I needed repairs. The mechanics seemed puzzled when they saw my Peugeot; they had never encountered this model before. More importantly, they didn’t have any parts, and the parts that I needed were in the metric system, not the imperial system. This meant that no North American part would fit. Fortunately, the mechanics were resourceful and managed to install General Motors parts that worked in some fashion, but only for a short time. The car sputtered, but it continued to run until it eventually broke down on a rural highway. I removed the license plates, left the vehicle on the shoulder, and hitchhiked back into town.

With my first professional job and a better salary in Norfolk, Virginia, I sought a stylish car. A yellow hardtop Dodge Coronet 440 caught my eye, equipped with a powerful V8 engine that rumbled in a confident roar. The black leather hardtop contrasted sharply with the yellow body, making it look sharp!

The car performed beautifully and even had air conditioning, which was a big deal since I didn’t have AC at my graduate dorm in Chapel Hill. We also lacked air conditioning at our rental unit in Norfolk, where temperatures often soared into the 100s.

I will never forget the rental furniture in Norfolk; the bed was made of Styrofoam! It was uncomfortably hot at night without air conditioning. The only relief we had during that time was from large fans and open windows, but we could always take a drive in the car with its AC system to escape the heat.

We later moved to Washington, DC, and then to Ottawa in this car. It was a reliable vehicle that took our family, which included three children under ten at the time, and our dog on several trips to Florida. With a two-door sedan, we had to push the children and the dog into the back seat before we could get going. We enjoyed car camping and visited various sights along Highway 95 as we headed south. One of our favorite stops was the Battleship North Carolina in Wilmington, NC.

At this point, we needed a second car to transport the children to their separate sports events. I purchased a used VW Squareback, which was economical, and I found the standard gear shift to be fun to use. However, the gas heater proved to be a challenge! Imagine driving the VW in minus twenty-degree temperatures during winter. The gas heater took time to start working. While waiting for it to warm up, I had to open the windows to prevent them from fogging up with my breath in the car. To cope with the biting cold wind coming through the windows, I wore a heavy parka, a tuque, and gloves. Unfortunately, the Squareback was not built for the freezing winters of Ottawa.

The car was lightweight, and even with snow tires, I slid into an intersection where oncoming vehicles collided with me one day. That was the end of the VW. The worst part was that my neighbors witnessed the wreck with me init, and the gossip in my neighborhood was about how incompetent I was at driving on ice.

A similar situation ensued with my fancy Dodge SE, a V8 that boasted ample power and a fabulous interior. This car had been given to me by my father when he retired, and I had it transported by train from Vancouver to Ottawa. It was a gem, but in humid weather, it was challenging to start. I am not sure why. I kept a screwdriver with a long stem in the glove compartment to help me short-circuit the starter engine in humid weather. Unfortunately, sliding on ice on a curvy road led me to crash into a tree, ending the life of this remarkable car.

After joining an international telecom company in the high-tech sector and becoming an executive, I rewarded myself with a Toyota Camry, which I dubbed the “silver bullet” because of its shiny silver color. It was a trouble-free car, and I drove it for an impressive 300,000 miles.

In a memorable event, I hit black ice on a rural road one night and flipped the car, leaving me hanging upside down by the seatbelt. Once I got my brain into gear, I opened the window and shut down the engine that was still running. Then I tried to figure out how to extricate myself from being upside down without banging my head when I unhook the seatbelt. Once I turned myself right up, I climbed outside through the window and flagged down a motorist. The insurance company paid for the rehabilitation of the car.

Before our next driving vacation, I had the vehicle inspected by service professionals to ensure it was still in excellent condition. They called me back in half an hour to inform me that the engine was about to fall out of the chassis at the next pothole due to the rusty frame.

We traded our Camry, with its limited value, for a Mercury Cougar station wagon to accommodate our hockey gear. The large hockey bags require plenty of space. I was impressed by the salesman’s story that the previous owner was the football coach of the Ottawa Roughriders. Despite the incessant rattle of loose parts, the car served us well.

When the Cougar became a rattletrap, we moved on to a Chevrolet Caprice Estate, another spacious station wagon. My most vivid memories with this car were transporting the boys to soccer tournaments from Montreal to Toronto, Syracuse, and various locations in between.

One trip left a lasting impression. The boys played cards in the back, sitting in a circle, when suddenly, the card game devolved into a farting contest. I had to open all the windows to let the foul smell escape, and when the boys continued to pass gas, I stopped the car and told them to control themselves or risk missing a game. That worked!

When we became empty-nesters, we decided to upgrade to a leased Honda CR-V. Now, we are on our third CR-V. The leasing arrangement allows us to get a new model every three to four years. Our current vehicle is a hybrid, and while the fuel efficiency is excellent, I was shocked to find out that it doesn’t come with a spare tire—the battery occupies that space. Fortunately, we’ve experienced very few flat tires on the road, so the absence of a spare may not be a significant issue. Keep your fingers crossed!

Overall, the quality of cars has improved considerably over time. At the same time, the number of gadgets and the use of chips in vehicles have increased substantially. I used to enjoy working on cars in the past, tinkering with things like changing spark plugs, but that has become too complex for me now. Thankfully, the newer cars tend to be more reliable.